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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517057">falling forward, back into orbit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hex_o/pseuds/hex_o'>hex_o</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Post-Episode: s02e22 The Wire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:27:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,904</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29517057</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hex_o/pseuds/hex_o</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s catching up on work, which isn't technically a lie, since he is making <em>some</em> progress on the garment draped over his lap. Never mind that Bashir is working an unusually late shift tonight, and has been ensconced in the infirmary until well past Garak's normal closing hour - an unrelated fact, irrelevant to his presence in the shop, nothing to do with the fact that his light on at such a strange hour will likely draw the doctor to him like a moth to a flame.</p><p>Garak and Julian, after the Wire.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julian Bashir/Elim Garak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>GARAK: What are you doing?<br/>
BASHIR: I think it's a little noisy in here. I prefer to drink somewhere quiet.<br/>
GARAK: An excellent idea. We'll go to my quarters.<br/>
BASHIR: Whatever you want.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-Deep Space Nine, 2x22, The Wire </em>
</p><p>-</p><p>He’s catching up on work, which isn't technically a lie, since he is making <em>some</em> progress on the garment draped over his lap. Never mind that Bashir is working an unusually late shift tonight, and has been ensconced in the infirmary until well past Garak's normal closing hour - an unrelated fact, irrelevant to his presence in the shop, nothing to do with the fact that his light on at such a strange hour will likely draw the doctor to him like a moth to a flame. </p><p>And, ah - there he is, that lanky frame, energetic even with the late hour, tumbling out of the infirmary door, and there - does his head turn? Human eyesight, not as adept in low light as a Cardassian’s, is still enough to pick out the lamp in Garak's shop, the sole glow in this section of the Promenade. </p><p>And yes, he turns, and Garak - he will act surprised, of course, as it's pure coincidence he happens to be working late, I don't keep track of your schedule, my dear doctor - Garak is pleased. </p><p>The implant has been off and out of his system for just over two weeks now. He has been free of the infirmary for five days, has seen Bashir twice - once for lunch, and once when the doctor insisted on a follow up exam to make sure there were no unforeseen side effects of his treatment. (He had refused to return to the infirmary, but Bashir popped up in his shop with a medical tricorder and an abundance of determination, and wouldn’t leave until Garak submitted to a scan.) There weren't, of course, any side effects to be found, unless one counted the dreary miasma settling into every facet of Garak's life on this miserable station. He supposed Bashir might, in fact, count that, and therefore neglected to bring it up. </p><p>So helpful, his doctor. Tender, forgiving, <em>kind</em> in a way Garak didn’t deserve - he had tried to bite him as a wounded animal would, had howled and scratched, and yet - </p><p>"Garak! Isn't it late for you to be working?" </p><p>Garak takes a moment to watch Bashir oscillate between amusement, concern, joy; what a curse, or a gift, to be able to express so many things at once, unknowingly, unbothered. He stands in the doorway of the shop, leaning one shoulder against the frame, softly illuminated. </p><p>“I could say the same to you, Doctor. Aren’t you normally to be found at Quark’s around now?” His hands still on the fabric; he gives Bashir his full attention. </p><p>“Several of the infirmary staff came down with the Ankaren Flu - perfectly treatable, of course, but it does have some recovery time, so I’m working extra shifts until we’re back to normal. It was a slow night, thankfully. Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding the question. Are you feeling alright?” </p><p>“Quite alright, of course - just catching up on a few commissions. It wouldn’t do to let my valued customers suffer because of a mild inconvenience on my end.” </p><p>Bashir snorts. “Mild inconvenience. If you insist, Garak.” His expression softens. “You weren’t wrong about Quark’s. I was thinking of heading there for a nightcap - care to join me?”</p><p>“Are you that eager to discuss <em>Meditations on a Crimson Shadow</em>?”</p><p>“I haven’t finished it yet, but I could use the company anyways. As I said, it was a slow night in the infirmary. Not a lot of good conversation to be had while treating Ensign T'Pril's sprained ankle. They're an excellent engineer, but a bit timid the rest of the time.” </p><p>“I see. No other late night rendezvous planned? No beautiful woman waiting for you by the dabo tables? After being away from the bar for so long treating your patients, I’m surprised.” </p><p>Bashir shifts - uncomfortable? Avoiding the question? He’s not usually one to be shy about sharing the details of his romantic life, but suddenly he looks away from Garak, focusing on the shadowy racks of dresses and jackets in the corner. </p><p>“Not tonight.”</p><p>Brusque. How unusual. </p><p>“Well, you’ve convinced me. Deep Space Nine will have to wait until the morning to look fashionable.” </p><p>Garak makes a show of tidying up his space, folding the fabric and tucking the corners just so to avoid the pins, his sonic seam ripper back to the shelf, shears safely nestled in his drawer, security measures of his own design activated, security measures of Cardassian design activated, security measures of Federation design reluctantly activated, lights off, and out the door he follows Bashir. </p><p>-</p><p>Within sight of the entrance to Quark’s, Bashir stops. </p><p>“Garak - I just realized how inconsiderate I’ve been. Last time you were here, you were at the bottom of a bottle of kanar. You’re still recovering.” </p><p>Oh, his tender, forgiving, <em>thoughtful</em> doctor - </p><p>“I think you’ll find I’m quite in my right mind these days. And besides that, I’m not convinced that Quark wouldn't cut me off the moment I even <em>approached</em> inebriation. As you saw, even a Ferengi has their limits when the customer is a belligerent Cardassian.” </p><p>“Belligerent - that’s one word for it, yes.” </p><p>“And the other?” </p><p>Bashir opens his mouth, and shuts it again. His cheeks flush, slightly, the word he was about to say caught behind his teeth, catching Garak’s interest. </p><p>“You were a lot of things that night,” he hedges. “I just wouldn’t want you to be somewhere that makes you uncomfortable.” </p><p>Evasive. How curious. </p><p>“I’m comfortable anywhere, as long as the company is good. Now, come. I’ll even avoid the kanar and stick to springwine, if it makes you happy.” </p><p>Garak gestures to the entrance to the bar, not wanting the night to end early. Bashir hesitates, rocks back on his heels, looks away. </p><p>“I - well. If you're sure." </p><p>They find a table on the second floor, far enough away from the other patrons that they won’t be disturbed - although Garak notes several sets of eyes tracking him as they make their way up the spiral stairs. He supposes it’s to be expected, after the scene he made last time he was here, and he would be shocked if outlandish rumors of his temporary leave of absence hadn’t spread through the station. </p><p>A Ferengi waiter comes to the table as they settle in and Garak, true to his word, orders them both springwine. They’re seated at a corner booth, one of Garak’s personal favorites, with sightlines to the exits and no easy way for someone to approach suddenly without being seen. </p><p>-</p><p>They chat aimlessly for a while, nursing their drinks, watching the hustle and bustle in the bar below, before Bashir gently steers the conversation back to recent events. </p><p>“I’ve been thinking of asking Chief O’Brien to make some changes to the environmental controls in your quarters, so you can increase the temperature as high as you need. I’m not sure how complicated it would be to make changes to one unit versus the rest of that segment of the station, but I’m sure he could figure it out. It is, in my opinion, medically recommended.” </p><p>“You’re too kind, doctor. That would be greatly appreciated.” He sips his springwine. This particular varietal tastes of peach, and although he finds it inferior to kanar, it’s still pleasant enough. “I’ve never tried to make those changes myself, of course-” Bashir rolls his eyes, <em> no, of course you haven’t.</em> “-but I imagine it would be too complicated for one person, especially one without the admittedly vast engineering knowledge of the Chief.” </p><p>Bashir nods, absentmindedly playing with the napkin wrapped around his drink. “ I can’t do much about - well. About the other issues you mentioned. Not much that can be done, I suppose. But I can at least do that.” </p><p>“Even the least of what you do is more than I deserve.”</p><p>“We’ve been over this, Garak - that’s simply not true.” </p><p>“Oh, let’s be realistic - it wouldn’t truly be exile if it was a pleasant experience.” </p><p>“You should still be able to live comfortably. Whatever you did, Garak, you don’t deserve to feel as if your life is torture.” </p><p>“Doctor, I’d rather not dwell.”</p><p>“Did you mean it when you said our lunches were the only thing you look forward to?” </p><p>"Doctor-" </p><p>"Garak." </p><p>Garak sighs. </p><p>“As I said, everything I told you was true. Truth is a matter of interpretation, not absolutes.” </p><p>Bashir looks down at his napkin, now neatly shredded in a little pile on the table, and pushes it aside. </p><p>"You also said you hated me. I didn't believe that was true then, and I still don't - I don’t think you hate me at all. Quite the opposite, in fact."</p><p>“How very sentimental of you. You can’t deny, however, that your face <em>is</em> a bit sanctimonious - “</p><p>“<em>Garak.</em>” </p><p>Garak’s head tilts back. He looks down his nose at the doctor, considering the unspoken question. The mood around them has shifted quietly, something new in the air, and Garak finds himself suddenly more aware than usual of the body next to him in the booth - the heat seems to radiate between them. Bashir drains the last dregs of his springwine. </p><p>“Tell me, Doctor - you said belligerent was one word for how I was acting during that unfortunate night at the bar. What was the other?”</p><p>"Aside from desperate, scared, and suffering?" </p><p>He watches Bashir exhale, look up through his eyelashes from where his head tilts towards his empty glass, then one corner of his mouth turns up, his tongue darts out to wet his lips-</p><p> “<em>Interested</em>, Garak. You seemed interested.” He pauses, blinks slowly, twice; his precious smile blooms. Garak feels something twist inside of him, something with sharp little thorns that press deep and latch on.</p><p> “I thought at first it might have been due to the circumstances, but the more I thought about it - well. I think the circumstances just kept you from hiding what you’ve felt for a while.” Bashir laughs under his breath and turns to gaze over the first level of the room. Garak controls his breathing, keeps his hands folded on his lap, does not give himself away. Bashir turns back to him, eyes glittering. “It is a little noisy in here, don’t you think?” </p><p>Ah. <em>Well.</em> </p><p>It wasn't lost on him how quickly he had acquiesced to Bashir's <em>shameless</em> line, during the aforementioned incident - in his defense, he had been in an immense amount of pain, three bottles of kanar deep, and, as ever, wildly attracted to Bashir, arguably <em>besotted</em>: not a combination built for turning down the things he wants. </p><p>What had surprised him, when he was able to think about things from a calmer perspective, new leukocytes flooding his system and nothing but an infirmary ceiling to take his mind off things, was how quickly Bashir had used unabashed invitation as a tactic. It's something Garak himself might have done, in days past: used an opponent's attraction to him, thrown them off their guard, taken advantage of intimate and vulnerable moments - but Bashir was acting out of care, not malice, and took no advantage, save that which eventually saved Garak’s life. </p><p>And he must know what he is asking for now. Garak shifts in his chair. </p><p>"Would you prefer to drink somewhere quieter, Doctor?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I cannot watch The Wire without absolutely losing my mind over the fact that when Julian needs to get Garak out of the bar quickly, he goes for a shameless pickup line and it works immediately. Immediately! And then even as Julian is being professional, and calm, there's still that moment when his eyes drop for a second, and I just feel like - he's seeing something there, right? Oh, and don't even get me started on the hand on the lower back it's just too much.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The anticipation between them is palpable as they walk to Bashir’s quarters. Garak finds himself lightly chattering about an irate customer from earlier in the day, and Bashir comments in all the right places, but the story isn’t true and he doesn’t think Bashir is really listening. Even so, they need a distraction if they’re to make it to their destination, so he keeps talking. </p><p>Once they reach Bashir’s quarters and cross the threshold, Garak only makes it half a second before he gives into the urge to touch him. He settles his hands on Bashir’s waist, and Bashir reaches up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing the ridges on his ears, his cheeks, along his jaw, his lips part, he is breathing fast, they are both breathing fast, and Garak, somehow utterly surprised and not at all surprised by this, having planned for this and not expected it at all, his heart is racing and his hands slide around to Bashir’s back to pull him in, he is beautiful and Garak can smell him and he smells so <em>good</em> and their mouths are about to meet - </p><p>“Wait-” Bashir pants, moving his hands suddenly to Garak’s chest, holding him still. “Wait.” </p><p>A flash of disappointment-anger-embarrassment-resignation rushes through Garak. He steps back obediently, but can’t quite bring himself to remove his hands entirely, and the tips of his fingers rest gently on the doctor’s hips. His eyes close, and open again as he exhales. </p><p>“Did I misunderstand, Doctor?” How <em>foolish</em> of him, to ask for what he wanted, to take Bashir at his word. </p><p>“Not in the least. But -” Bashir’s eyes dart from Garak’s eyes to his mouth and back again. “ - I don’t want to do this for the wrong reasons.” </p><p>“And what reasons would those be?” </p><p>“I don’t want to be a quick fix for you. I don’t want - I can’t be just something to make you feel better. I don't want to regret this.” </p><p>“I might remind you that you initiated this, Doctor, after deciding you had already divined my feelings on the matter.” Garak finds it in himself to step backwards, and Bashir’s hands fall from his chest. “Why go to all the trouble of inviting me back to your quarters if you couldn’t be bothered to think it through before doing so?” </p><p>“Now, wait just a minute-” </p><p>“I am not here for your amusement, or your flights of fancy - the lonely exile, desperate for a warm bed-”</p><p>“Garak, that’s not what I meant at all!” </p><p>“<em>Goodnight</em>, Doctor,” and Garak strides towards the door. </p><p>He makes it halfway there. </p><p>Bashir has him backed against the wall before he knows what’s happened. He is stronger - <em>much</em> stronger - than Garak would have otherwise anticipated, given both his research on humans in general (done before the Federation arrived at the station, it pays to know one’s landlords) and his assessment of Bashir himself. He realizes very quickly that he’ll have to consider that <em>interesting</em> fact at a later time, as the more immediate issue is the body pressed against his, and the hands on his forearms, gently holding him in place. Bashir's hips push into his, and oh, it feels good, and he is <em>warm</em>. </p><p>It is not the first time Garak has been shoved against a wall, certainly, but usually it’s happened under much less pleasant circumstances - and it speaks to the relative trust he has in Bashir’s intentions that rather than throwing him off, Garak goes still underneath him, anticipatory, unable to move away. Their eyes lock; they breathe, for a moment, in tandem. </p><p>“I refuse to take advantage of you,” Bashir says, quietly. “I want this, <em>very</em> much, but only if it’s something you genuinely want as well. If you’re just using me in place of the implant -” He exhales sharply. “I don’t think you are, or I wouldn’t have brought you back here. I just have to be sure.” </p><p>"I wouldn't want you to <em>regret</em> this, Doctor."</p><p>“If you tell me you want me, truly want me, then there’s nothing about this I could regret. ”</p><p>Bashir’s hands slide from where they had been holding Garak’s arms and settle on his shoulders. Garak is stunned, trying to parse what this <em>impossible</em> creature is asking of him - he’s distracted by the way the doctor is gently trailing his fingers along his shoulder ridges, bewildered by the compassion that he has been shown again and again; Garak had been torn apart by the things he wanted long before the doctor took his hand in forgiveness, but maybe there is hope in the things he has wanted since. </p><p>“There is no piece of me that does not want you wholly, Julian.” As much truth as he can give, too much, unadorned, for whatever it’s worth in this quiet room.  </p><p>Julian’s hands reach his face again, their bodies aligned, his eyes dark. He cradles Garak as he would something precious, or broken, and slowly, patiently, Julian touches the tip of his nose to Garak’s. He moves in, carefully, and Garak has to close his eyes, it is too <em>much</em>, feeling his heart reach out like this, and Julian’s lips brush his, so softly, sweetly, and then Julian kisses him, his mouth searing hot, and Garak came here with intentions to do just this, but he had expected something rough, crude, two bodies colliding together - not this, but he should have known: his doctor, tender, kind, so <em>careful</em> with him. </p><p>Julian breaks away with a smile. “There, that’s much nicer than yelling at me in my quarters, isn’t it?” </p><p>“I suppose one could argue it has <em>some</em> merit,” Garak tries to sound exasperated as he wraps his arms around Julian. “Perhaps if you communicated more clearly next time, we can skip straight to this part and avoid the yelling entirely.” </p><p>“Well, for once I can’t argue with you.” Julian kisses him again, deeply, joyfully. Garak slides his hands down, pulls Julian’s hips in tight against his, and Julian gasps against his mouth.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm incapable of writing these two without devolving into sappy, sentimental fluff, apparently. </p><p>There's a universe where I write more to this, but I haven't decided if it's this one, so I'm calling it complete for now. </p><p>Also if I'm really getting into the nitty-gritty canon analysis, I don't actually think they'd get together this early, but apparently I'm a simple girl: I re-watch a Garashir centric episode, I write a fic about them smooching in the aftermath.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I cannot watch The Wire without absolutely losing my mind over the fact that when Julian needs to get Garak out of the bar quickly, he goes for a shameless pickup line and it works immediately. Immediately! And then even as Julian is being professional, and calm, there's still that moment when his eyes drop for a second, and I just feel like - he's seeing <em>something</em> there, right? Oh, and don't even get me started on the <em>hand on the lower back</em> it's just <em>too much</em>. </p><p>Next chapter up in the next couple weeks, assuming my brain does not melt into soup between now and then.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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